


Quick Fix

by luvkurai



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fucking Machines, Hypersexual Disorder, M/M, There was a ramp up, Will is kind of ooc, helpful!Hannibal, nympho!Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-24 23:18:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/945870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luvkurai/pseuds/luvkurai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I believe you may be suffering from a mild hypersexual disorder, Will.” The teacher is silent for a moment. </p><p>“Isn’t that just a stuffy way of saying that you think I’m a nympho?”</p><p>Hannibal buys Will a present to aid in his affliction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quick Fix

**Author's Note:**

> Hahaha wow. So someone-tell-me-a-url prompted me on tumblr last week the following: Will is a nymphomaniac, Hannibal loves it at first, but then he starts to get tired because Will wants sex all the time.
> 
> I've been wanting to write slutty!Will so I couldn't really resist. It's kind of weird tho, sorry for that. I hope you like it, lovely darling! xxx

It is not that he has tired of sex with his William—he doubts he ever will.

It’s just that there are other aspects of his life that have gradually become more and more _lacking,_ as Will’s affliction developed. In all honesty, Hannibal vaguely noticed the problem weeks and weeks ago, but he had already convinced himself (with no small amount of conceit, he admits) that William simply could not help himself around him.

But, Hannibal knows firsthand the reckless abandon Will experiences during coitus. He is normally so enclosed within himself, so separate from others. To sense something utterly raw and primal deep down in in his bones, to feel another human being partaking in the same sensation is unbearably liberating.

Hannibal should have seen the hypersexuality coming explicitly from the start of their relationship. But it wasn’t until the week prior, when Will showed up at his office in the middle of the day, unannounced, and attempted to barge into his office _while a patient was present_ to beg to be fucked, that Hannibal realized the seriousness of the situation.

Once Will finally _had_ gained access to the room, after Hannibal ushered the patient out the door, he signified his refusal to leave by splaying himself out naked on the mahogany desk. Recklessly across important documents and stray scalpels, no less.

It was terribly coarse, very much on the far side of rude.

Once Will finally _was_ appeased, he fell into a deep slumber, still naked, upon the powder blue couch, forcing Hannibal to cancel the day’s remaining appointments due to the inescapable knowledge that once Will awoke the cycle would start all over again.

And it was not just Hannibal’s life that was suffering from it. When prodded, Will admitted to being behind on grading his student’s essays, that he had not contributed anything of value at a crime scene in quite a while, and that he finds it is almost impossible to concentrate during meetings with his colleagues.

Satyriasis does not have a prescribed fix. Often, it is treated as an addiction, an irrepressible impulse. Other times it is compulsory. Hannibal believes Will’s problem is of the latter variety, sex being used to repress the anxiety and rigidities birthed in other aspects of his life. But while he fits some parts of that description, he does not fit others. Hannibal is unsure whether cutting Will off completely will be beneficial, or will possibly do more harm.

But things cannot continue. Hannibal has to take a leap of faith, move forward and pull Will kicking and screaming behind him.

 

At four o’clock in the afternoon, on a Thursday in midwinter, the door to Hannibal’s office begins to jiggle. It is locked, as Hannibal has taken to ensuring to keep certain guests, unwanted and unannounced, out. But he has been expecting this particular guest and rises quickly to admit him entrance.

The moment he opens the door, his lover is upon him, pressing up against his chest in a desperate attempt to reach his lips to Hannibal’s. He keeps his mouth tantalizingly out of reach.

“Good afternoon, Will.”

His voice is a purr, “I _missed_ you…” He winds his arms around Hannibal’s hips. Fiddles with the waist of his pants as he grinds and rubs to try and elicit the desired reaction. He steels himself against it, refuses to let the growl held captive at the base of his throat escape and takes hold of Will’s wrists to pull him across the room. He goes easily enough, struggling only placidly in an effort to participate in whatever game this is—because he still thinks it a game. Beside the couch, Hannibal pushes him to the floor, up against the blue fabric, and, with his wrists still in hand, uses nylon rope to bind him there. They have used it before, the course material having left red marks aflame on his skin for days at a time.

In response to the bonds William squirms with delight. He kicks off his shoes and socks and tries to rid himself of his trousers. Mutters out sweet _oh_ ’s and “Yeah, _Hannibal_ , have your way with me—“ grinding his erection up through his trousers all the while. He slides the fabric off Will’s waist, letting his boxers follow. This is exactly why it took Hannibal so long to make a decision. Because, when Will sinks into this sort of frenzy, letting himself follow is too easy. Especially with Will’s erection already bobbing at his stomach, his own still painfully confined.

But after all, there are only so many solutions when your boyfriend is addicted to sex.

“Be quiet, Will,” he says, and the man immediately obeys. Will settles, rolls his shoulders back as far as he can and gazes heedlessly up at Hannibal’s lips. He sees the fluttering curl of dark lashes framing, the whites of his pupils—Will arrived with his glasses already removed. “I bought you a present.”

The corner of Will’s lips twitches upwards, then down again, giving away nothing. Hannibal moves away from the couch to the other side of the room, where he has left the large crate. It is heavy, but not unmanageably so.

The crinkle of Will’s eyebrows, once the box is unloaded beside his feet, is portrait-worthy. Hannibal’s gift to Will is a medium-sixed fucking machine, an iron box shielding the gear and mechanisms inside, two adjustable stirrups propped above it, at an optimal angle to keep the body spread and curved. On a protruding rod, currently pointed directly at the gap between Will’s thigh, is a piece of red silicon, molded into the shape of a large cock.

“Do you like it?” Hannibal asks, as if he has not already predicted Will’s reaction.

“No.” His glare spurs Hannibal to move to the point.

“I believe you may be suffering from a mild hypersexual disorder, Will.” The teacher is silent for a moment.

“Isn’t that just a stuffy way of saying that you think I’m a nympho?”

Hannibal drops to his knees so he can see Will more clearly. He uses his silence to essentially confirm Will’s statement. “Fuck _no_ , Hannibal.”

“Language, Will.” How quickly he forgets the boundaries laid out before him. The man carries on carelessly.

“Fuck me _, please—_ I want _you,_ not that thing—”

He cuts Will off with a firm, “No. You had better get used to it, darling. Because it is all the stimulation you will be getting today, and tomorrow, and the next day.”

Hannibal has no intention of _never_ fucking Will again. Why give up something so glorious? But he senses this solution is best for all parties. William will, ultimately, get what he needs, though he may rebel every step of the way. Hannibal will regain the time he needs to work, rest and engage in some of his other extracurricular activities.

In addition, due to the machine’s method of movement, Will’s orgasms should be longer and more intensive. It will take a few days to have really affect, but it should lower his libido to a slightly more manageable level.

And when he so chooses, he shall allow Will to beg for his cock until his throat is dry, and then he will give it to him. A reward, of sorts, for good behavior.

William has yet to see these benefits, of course. He groans, struggles against the bonds and lifts his hips again. As if the sight of his pre-lubricated hole (he likely stretched and moistened it in the car before coming in, the slut) will make Hannibal change his mind. A lewd mating call that only an extremely desperate Will Graham would attempt.

But instead of giving in, Hannibal continues on. Says, “Now, since you have not used a machine like this before, I will help you this time. But next time you will need to operate it on your own. Am I clear?”

Will remains stubbornly silent for a while, displaying a shocking amount of immaturity. If another acted so rudely to him, he would grind the meat of their liver until it reached the necessary consistency of lasagna meat. This man is lucky to be in Hannibal’s good graces.

But finally, the ache in his erection wins out and he nods his head in one short jerk. _Excellent._

Hannibal sets himself to work, fastening Will’s legs into the stirrups, lubricating the dildo with deft fingers, fiddling with the knob a bit, and positioning it at Will’s hole. As an afterthought, he unbuttons Will’s shirt, to prevent him from overheating. He uses two fingers to give the man a cursory thrust, just to ensure he is indeed as well prepared as he appears.

“I spent a comparatively large amount of money on this, Will. I expect you to get quite a lot of use out of it. I know it will not suffice as a _replacement_ for me, per say, but you will grow used to it I’m sure. In time.”

With that, he pushes the machine forward, farther and farther into Will until his body spasms in surprise, indicative of the prostate.

“Hm…I believe everything is in order, dear Will. I trust you will enjoy my gift.”

Then, stepping away, he switches the machine on. The change is subtle at first. It is a high quality machine, Hannibal could not present Will with anything but the very best, after all. Therefore, this model comes with a ramp up setting. It starts slow, lucidly sliding in and out of Will’s hole, barely exerting any pressure on the sweet spot inside him. And it will intensify.

Hannibal need not lift another finger. He strides away, sits with his back to Will at his desk, to go over his own notes from the last appointment. Fiddles with his iPad from time to time. A substantial amount of time passes before he hears so much as a peep from Will; he almost forgets his presence.

But when he does vocalize his frustration, it is magnificent. Moaning and panting sounds, desperately high-pitched and positively endearing. His breathing turns to long, ragged gasps and Hannibal can even hear the sound of him shoving himself back and forth upon the carpeted floor.

He rises from his seat, half in desire to see Will and half because he legitimately requires reference from a volume beside one of the leather chairs. From his standing position there, he can clearly see the sweat drenched skin. The thrusts are faster now, and deeper. Each one makes Will’s entire body clench up, from his fingers restrained behind his back to the very tips of his toes, which spread and curl irrepressibly. His abdomen strains, already curled unnaturally due to the position of Will’s legs in the stirrups. The struggle to drive forward, to allow the thrust to extend its reach even deeper, seems to have stripped him of all coherent thought.

His tongue flicks out to wet his lips and he moans, “ _H—Hannibal!”_

His name of Will’s lips, moaned out in ecstasy while he himself stands reading on the opposite signs of the room, is one of the more beautiful sounds in existence. It makes everything within him clench deliciously. Appeals not to the animalistic desire in him to rut the nearest available hole (he is more than capable of suppressing _that_ instinct), but instead his innate power complex. That Will would allow himself to be fucked by a machine and still scream out Hannibal’s name illustrates the amount of control he possesses. To have it proven so meritoriously is intoxicating.

The dildo quickens, exiting for not even a split second before pushing in again. The assault on Will’s ass is almost violent, at how quick paced it is. The sound of him being spread open, over and over again, is familiar to Hannibal.

“ _Oh—_ oh— _Hannib—“_ The rushing pleasure cuts him off. Makes his voice turn to incoherent rambling. Senseless sounds that echo around Hannibal’s office and no doubt out into the waiting room. It is lucky he has no more patients scheduled for the day.

A few moments more and Will cries out, orgasm racking through him, semen splaying up against the shirt Hannibal did not bother to remove entirely. His head falls back in blatant pleasure and, throughout it all, the machine pounds on. Heartless and cold, it takes no notice of William’s flushed skin and leaking cock. It draws out the orgasm for longer than Hannibal has seen before. Even when his cock has no more semen to expunge, his body continues to rack and shudder with pleasure coming in waves for a few long seconds.

The force only escalates. It will continue to do so, less Hannibal stop it. And he does, though he takes his time in doing so. Lets himself rest a hand on Will’s inner thigh and feel the tension there, and the sweat. With the machine turned off, he withdraws it from Will’s hole. He starts out of semi-unconsciousness and gazes, unseeing, at Hannibal for a split second before resting his head against the man’s shoulder.

He is thoroughly exhausted, as is expected. If Hannibal’s solution suffices, he should wake up clearheaded and willing to have a serious discussion about how they will tackle the problem long-term. The machine is only a quick fix, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> luvkurai.tumblr.com


End file.
